


Tim and The Crisis Of Family

by Fanfiction127



Category: Maribat - Fandom
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Aged-Up Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Bruce Wayne Has Issues, Bruce Wayne is a Bad Parent, Cause I Said So, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, F/F, F/M, Gen, Hurt Tim Drake, M/M, Marinette has an adopted daughter, Multi, Parent Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Past Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Snake Luka Couffaine | Viperion, Tim Drake-centric, tim is marinettes bio kid
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:47:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28242633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fanfiction127/pseuds/Fanfiction127
Summary: What if Tim Drake wasn't the son of Janet and John Drake...What if his mother was Marinette?
Relationships: Jack Drake & Tim Drake, Janet Drake & Tim Drake, Luka Couffaine/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Comments: 20
Kudos: 97





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Original Headcanon   
> Featuring; Bio!Mominette and Bio!SonTim 
> 
> Marinette and Adrien had been together for a while when she was around 16, and depending on if you want this salt of sugar with some angst then either Adrian r*ped her or they did the do but broke up after a while. During that time Marinette got pregnant. She ended up having the young boy, however, gave him away to a, seemingly, nice family with the funds that her parents just didn’t have. 
> 
> After this event, she and Luka ended up getting together and later on, married. For about 14 years after the boy was born, everything was normal. No surprise children came knocking on Marinettes door, however, she and Luka did adopt a young girl who had blue eyes and strawberry blond hair named Arya. 
> 
> Now we go to a 14-year-old Tim Drake who was just nearly killed by both his older brother, Jason ‘The Dead Robin’ Todd, and younger brother, Damian ‘The Ex-Assassin’ Wayne, who decided he needed a break and ran off to Drake Manor (which Bruce had bought as a sort of safe space for Tim). Once there he went around, recalling some of the nicer memories he had there. However, that was cut short when he got to his father's study and saw something…. off. It was his birth certificate, except it wasn’t. 
> 
> Tim had seen his birth certificate, and although this one had his name, date of birth, and correct identification with it, this one was… different. His mother, or at least the one written on the sheet, was a Marinette Dupain Chen, written neatly and in French. To say Tim was intrigued would be vastly untrue. He was confused but determined.
> 
> And so, Tim went off to find Marinette Dupain Cheng who was, supposedly, his birth mother.

Tim watched the door idly from his spot on the medical table. _‘It could have been worse’_ , Tim reminded himself. At least this time someone had given him mercy and helped him up. Alfred, the only saint in the manor, was wrapping up a new gash Damian, ~~Bruce’s precious demon~~ , had given him.

 _‘Dark hair sprawled against the matted floors, blood, and sweat creating an ugly concoction. Bluebell eyes made their way up to the stifling green eyes of ~~his brother~~ Damian’s. “You don’t deserve the mantle of Robin,” He taunted. Tim wanted to say something, anything. However, any sort of word, or punch, would get him reprimanded. Damian seemed to take this as an insult and spit out a harsh, “pathetic,” before walking away from the current robin.’ _Could he even call himself the current Robin, he hadn’t used the suit in months, not since Jason first started his murder happy faze? Then again, Tim seemed to be losing more and more of his sanity by the day. It was probably about time he snapped. 

Tim took a deep breath, forcing his eyes away from the metal door and towards his bandaged abdomen, which oddly enough didn’t seem to hurt. Was he really that screwed up that pain didn’t bother him anymore. And when had that pain vanished? Surely he would have felt something…

Something in Tim started churning, aching for him to leave. Without much work, Tim brushed Alfred's hand away and put his hoodie on. The hoodie was soft, meant for the colder atmosphere most of New Jersey had around November. A

Tim breathed out a small ‘thanks’ before making an escape. He knew Alfred wasn’t happy, the glare he had given him when he pushed him away just now had proven that, but there was nothing he could say nor do. At least nothing Tim would oblige to at the moment. 

Tim rounded the corner of the cave, exiting out Bruce’s study and making his way to the garage. Nearly everyone was home, including Stephanie, Cass, and Dick, but nobody paid him any mind, and if they did then they didn’t say anything. A part of him wanted to feel disappointed, but honestly,it was expected. He wasn’t shiny and brand new like Damian, he didn’t history like Jason, he didn’t have the charisma that Dick had and he most certainly didn’t have anything on Cassandra and Duke. 

As Tim looked back at the room, a part of himself told him to stay, to not run away from his problems. But the other part, the part that saw Stephanie sitting in his chair, told him to run. It was the ugly part that always crept in and told him he wasn’t wanted or needed, the part of himself that, for some odd reason, sounded too true to be fake. 

Tim turned back around, he couldn’t handle whatever was going to happen when Dick and Bruce found out what Damian did ~~what Tim didn’t stop.~~ But that was Tim’s job now wasn’t it? To watch over Damian and make sure he didn’t do anything “regrettable”, Gods forbid Bruce step up and act like a father, or that Dick actually acts like an adult and not some man child. 

Grinding his teeth together, Tim let out a half scream, his voice muffled in his hands. He looked up at the car mirror, ~~why was that down? He didn’t know~~ and saw just how haunted he truly looked. His skin was paler than normal, accompanied by dark purple bags and semi-visible freckles. Deep bluebell eyes, now drained to something of a dark grey, reflected into the mirror. 

Tim lifted his arm and in a moment of absolute anger, slammed the mirror shut and back up against the roof of the car. He wanted to scream and shout and curse at everything and nothing all at the same time, however, he couldn’t. Nobody would listen to him, and doubted the sky would scream back at him. 

Instead, he pushed the key into the ignition and started the car, the foul stench of freshly pumped gas filling his senses. A beep, signaling that he needed to put his seat belt on, started going off in the overly obnoxious way it always did. 

For a moment, Tim sat there, contemplating what he was actually doing. But the ugly voice came back and he drove away, away from his problems, away from his family, away from everything. Perhaps a visit to the Drake manor wasn’t as terrible as it had sounded. 


	2. Chapter 2

It barely took a minute to get the manor, its rusted metal gate swaying slightly as if it were welcoming him home with a wave. A shame it didn't offer a smile, instead, all it did was offer its harsh edges and molded hinges. Tim counted it a miracle the gate had not fallen to the ground. 

The gate screeched when Tim forced them open, almost knocking him down when he didn't latch them. 'Should have known Bruce wouldn’t pay for the place to be checked.’ He thought.

Tim got back into his car and slowly drove up the driveway, or what remained of it, he supposed. There were cracks and holes filled with ivy, something that the entirety of the house seemed to possess, and little shreds of paper still stuck in the now overgrown shrubbery. 

> _'Tim looked out the window from the attic, watching his mother be dragged away in handcuffs._

> _“It won’t last”, She shrilled as she was taken away. Janet Drake was always quite full of herself._

> _Something in Tim told himself that he shouldn’t look. That he should look away from his father's screaming match with GCPD and run to find a hiding place. That part of him always seemed so precise, it always knew things even when it shouldn’t. So he ran._

> _He went to the old wine cellar that rested under the pantry._

> _The entry was too small to fit a normal person in, almost too small for him. He knew that even if John found him, he wouldn’t ever be able to get to him. And so Tim ran. He ran down the attic stairs, slamming the wooden door against the ceiling and running to his room. He grabbed his hidey bag, filled with small knick-knacks, a water bottle, and a few granola bars, and booked it to the kitchen._

> _Tim ran to the second staircase, too afraid to take the main as it led directly to the entryway. As he made it to the main level, Tim froze. The sound of the front door closing still ringing in his ear._

> _“TIMOTHY”, Jack yelled, causing the young boy to book it._

> _Tim prayed to any of the gods that maybe, just maybe he would get lucky. That maybe he would make that final stretch before John caught him.’_

Tim supposed that maybe, just maybe, it was Jack that made him stronger in some fucked up way. The man, no matter how little he meant to Tim, would always haunt him. His black, lifeless eyes and pale skin. His voice and how loud it was that it resembled thunder. The way he forced Tim to understand fear before he was even three, and how little he now slept because of it. It was scary how much he had been molded to withstand, and how very little could affect him. 

He supposed that's why he had laughed the first time Damian had threatened him. He doubted Damian could truly break him, the only people who had gotten close were Jack and the Joker. Jack had left him with a shriveled heart and a treasure trove of issues. The Joker had nearly torn him in half and forced him to acknowledge his own fears, he had shown him, if nothing else, that he wasn't truly normal. Perhaps not even human. The man had brainwashed him into something Tim never wanted to be, and it affected him severely. Not that Bruce ever cared enough to take notice.

He took a breath, closing his eyes, and leaning back. Tim knew, logically, there was no point in coming here and that the only thing he would leave with was a mouth full of mold and a new sense of anxiety. 

Still, he got out of the car and took it in. The door, much like the gate, was cracked and looked close to becoming one with nature after the inevitable falling off its hinges. The windows weren’t much better. Vines covered the exterior of the house, and he was sure they extended to the inside. The grass had become overgrown and much of the shrubbery looked as though more than a few bugs and animals inhabited them. Tim was almost sure a wolf was living inside, living off the insects and whatever food was left when Bruce took him in. 

Tim cursed a little when he stepped on a roof panel, a rusted nail sticking out. That in itself told him to leave, go get some coffee and relax, but that annoying voice told him to go inside. 

The floorboards creaked when he entered, a few beetles escaping through the loose tile. 

One of the first things he noticed was the main staircase that led to a massive window. The stairs twisting around, allowing those who wished to look out at the indoor garden to have a perfect view of it. ‘Jack had hated that room,’ Tim thought, remembering the time Tim had tracked mud when he was six. Janet had calmed him down but she had made sure knew not to do it again. 

Tim walked up the first half of the staircase, stopping in front of the window to see the large garden, overflowing and half-dead from lack of sun and proper water. There were glass shards sprawled throughout the room, the glass window having been destroyed long ago. The walls were more than likely holding mildew from the way the wallpaper folded in on itself, Tim often did wonder why Janet demanded wallpaper in such a room, the mist would have rotted it away some time ago. 

The hallways upstairs were long and intricate, each wall sporting a heavenly egg white with dark oak trim to go with. The floor was the same dark oak that ran throughout most of the house, however, rows of sickly colored carpet squares lined the center of the halls, each mushed and sagged into the floor. The wall decorations were still hanging, although Tim doubted they would ever fall. 

Tim stopped in front of one of the larger portraits. Its golden frame and intricate swirls were made to give the expression of wealth, not that the Drakes needed to prove it. The painting, because Jack hated photos as they were ‘tacky’, was of Tim and Janet. His hair was shorter then, cut to match the buzz cut Jack had, while Janet had brown, shoulder-length curls tied in the back with pearls. 

Her dress was black, neatly tucked in, and held against her waist with a belt. She wore light makeup and pink lipstick that matched her blush. Her necklace was made of pearls, as was the bracelet that laid against the wrist she used to hold his younger self. 

Tim continued looking at the painting. He could see Janet, he could tell it was her from the tight curls to the piercing blue eyes, but not the boy next to her. The boy, Timothy Drake, was someone Tim didn’t remember. That boy held an ocean of emotions, his eyes shined brightly against the trenches that threatened to swallow him whole. That boy was innocent. 

Tim looked away, hands reaching to his shoulder, ready to clench down on whatever bag he had only to find nothing more than an empty shoulder and a fresh bruise. Letting out a breath Tim turned down the hall, closing his eyes and allowing his hand to graze the dark oak lining, leading him wherever the manor so deemed he was needed. ‘Trust your instincts’, someone had once told him, ‘they’ll never lead you astray.’ Tim didn’t know where he had heard it, Janet had blocked every station but the news and he doubted anyone would ever say something like that, at least no one from Gotham. 

The gap in the wall almost caused Tim to fall, the sharp, unrounded edges of two colliding chunks of wood nicking his palm. Tim let out a small curse, watching his palm redden around a white line. 

> _“Fuck, why do children have to so much work” Janet cursed, wiping away the blood from Tim's palm. Tim didn’t understand why it was his fault Janet was angry, she had been the one to clean up the glass._

> _“All you ever do is cause more work for me, and now look at me. My dress is ruined because of you,” Janet ranted, pushing harder into Tims’ hand causing more blood and pain to gush out._

> _“FUCK!,” she breathed out, pushing Tim down. Janet threw the rag at Tim, causing blood to gush onto his shirt. “You made the mess,” She hissed out, “Now clean it up.”_

Tim looked at the door in front of him, a sick sense of nostalgia coming over him. His father had once resided within this room, his aroma still hung deep in the air, only diluted by the ever-present smell of mold and the rat carcass behind the couch. And still, Tim proceeded in, running his opposite hand against the hundreds of books that lined the walls. 

Looking around the room, Tim couldn’t be sure he felt anything. Jack hadn’t allowed anyone in here, not even Janet. There were no windows, and very few lights beside the lamp at the desk could be seen, however, the mid-afternoon sun could be seen creeping through the cracks. 

Tim set his coat on the chair, not caring if he would have to burn it later on. In front of the chair stood a large, Victorian-styled desk made of dark oak and gold paint. It was tall, supported by the hidden cabinets and footrest that connected the entire desk. Each knob was gold in color and had small curves to give them an elegant touch. 

One of the cabinets were left open after Tim had been called into Wayne Enterprises late one night. Within it rested a safe, black in color with small dents and bumps scattered around it. Curiosity crawled under Tim's skin as he looked at it. There were safes everywhere around the manor, Tim himself had quite a few from when he would hide his camera. However, looking at the safe Tim couldn’t help but want to look inside. 

Feeling the lock he could tell it was rather simple, at least three digits were needed and Tim doubted Jack would have made it something random. Rather than trying to figure it out, Tim resolved to use the small lock picker Bruce had given him, forcing the safe to open. 

Within the safe Tim found small knick-knacks piled onto old manila files and newspapers. Several things caught his sight, but nothing quite as much as the red velvet ring box. Within it was a silver ring, three small diamonds backed one large one and to the sides were a sapphire and emerald crystal, each smaller compared to the diamonds. They weren’t bright by any means, if anything they needed to be cleaned. 

Tim closed the ring box, encasing the ring back into its place, and sat it on the desk. Next was a doll, something old and made of porcelain. The face was cracked but other than that, it was in perfect condition. The bluebell eyes matched almost perfectly with the black-blue hair, each string curled neatly and held together with a simple bobby pin. The doll was dressed in a typical Victorian style dress, only colored a deep maroon and a soft eggshell.

Her shoes clicked together as Tim laid her on the desk causing him to look back at it to be sure it was safe. Once assuring he had done no damage, Tim continued his search, finding a bag of needles and thread, all different in color. Next to the bag was a pen, clearly hand-carved, with musical notes of different colors. When he clicked the pen it revealed a ballpoint, one which still had ink. 

Finally, there was a book, ‘Le journal de Marinette Dupain Cheng’. Its pages were clearly handcrafted, torn to make them look more worn. Each page was diligently written in french. Some pages were messy and short, while others were long and detailed, filled to the brim with sketches and loose pieces of fabric. 

A few of the pages seemed to have been ripped out, only for a new piece of paper to be placed over the old. Tim went to sit the book down when he saw a picture fall out. On it was a girl, most likely around his age, standing with a group of people while smiling. She had blue pigtails and side bangs with the brightest blue eyes he had possibly ever seen. A boy, slightly taller than her, had his arm wrapped around her shoulder as he kissed her cheek, a deep blush covering his face. 

Tim placed the picture back into the book and grabbed the files that rested at the bottom of the safe. The first two were specific details on his parents, birth certificates, proof of citizenship, passports, and so on. However, the last one was on him. 

Tim knew everything about himself was back at Wayne manor in some folder of his file cabinet, so it made no sense for him to file here when it had already been collected. 

Tim opened the folder, surprised when all that was in it was a small packet. Pulling out the packet, Tim grabbed the contents, surprised to see a birth certificate. However, it was what was on it that surprised him. This was his birth certificate, or at least that's what it was stated to be. The only problem was where the parent’s names were supposed to be, there was no Jack or Janet Drake. The certificate didn’t even have a father listed. 

However, there was a mother. 

Marinette Dupain-Cheng


End file.
